I am sick of words
that flow and tumble
randomly from my mind
Not making the right sound
or having the correct flow
My instinct is to **** them,
chop them up and discard them
Leave them
-like rare orchards
in the desert never to be seen
The man with the Hoover
will come tomorrow,
he' l put the tube through my ear
and **** the words out one by one.
Ill hear them swishing past as they go.
ill replace them with better words,
bigger words,
college words
with little connecting words in between
Ill make a chain of words
and use them up
before the Hoover man comes again
Ill be their savoir-
I may even become a poet